staring at them, staring at me

I visited my Dad's work office and i never realized how many photos there were me when i was young with a dodgy fringe.

I sit there staring at them, staring at me The girl with no worries; no responsibilities And another girl... Slightly older with rusty earrings and an exhausted face They are laughing, and yet I am clueless as to what they are laughing at One hand held high, pointing to a face Who’s face?

Blonde hair... Lighter than I remember... A lot shorter too. An absent straightening iron Lips cherry red and teeth. Muddled. Trying to find a way through. From here I see blue eyes maybe green

Matching white tops. Pure. Not tainted nor tinged by the arguments to come The younger cannot see an independent mind failing to be tamed by one of elder experience Who has tanned skin... slightly pinker; freckles under her smokey mascara line Versus white, porcelain skin. Fragile. Not yet gone to battle with sunburn on a Mediterranean beach. Not yet gone to battle with the wind on her fathers triumph tiger And not yet gone to battle with the pavement, while learning to ride her bicycle